Easy As Falling Off A Bike
by Angharad
part 217.

I decided that if Simon was going to go to the hospital, then I would go too. But first I had to calm him down. I hugged him and kissed him, he was crying and trembling.

"Hey, come on now, pull yourself together." I spoke with some firmness and his demeanour changed almost instantly. "I shall come with you, but there is no point in running around like headless chickens. To start with, we are going to get dressed and eat before we go. Stella will be in theatre for at least an hour, we have plenty of time. So come on, let's do this properly."

"Oh I couldn't eat anything, too anxious," he replied.

"You will eat something or I won't let you go!"

I expected an outburst from him, telling me where to go, instead he hung his head and nodded his assent. I nearly fell over. "Come on let's get dressed," I urged him.

"Do you need me?" called Tom from his bedroom doorway.

"No you go back to bed Tom, we'll ring if anything untoward happens."

"Aye, okay." His door closed.

We dressed in relative silence, slipping on jeans and sweaters over casual shirts. I pulled on some teddy bear socks and my trainers. Apart from the bra, in reality my clothing wasn't that different today from what I was wearing before my transition. Okay, my sweater also has teddy bears on it and my jeans have some embroidery and my trainers, my girly 'boks have pink flashes on them, but apart from that, I used to dress like this before. No I didn't, who am I trying to fool. I used to wear baggy grungy stuff to hide my body shape.

I popped in some earrings and shoved on a bracelet as well as my watch. Simon was sitting on the bed waiting my next instruction. He was dressed but still looking lost.

"Can you put the kettle on, love?" I asked him.

"Yes, sure." He rose off the bed and went downstairs.

He seemed to be in a state of shock, understandable perhaps, but it concerned me that he was also susceptible to bossy women when in such states. Stella had taken advantage of it often enough, now I was, but I wasn't comfortable. At the same time, I didn't like being bossed around myself and if Simon was the strong, masterful sort I'd have left him long ago.

I reconciled myself with the fact that someone needed to take control and I did that, perhaps he could do it next time, especially if I'm the headless chicken then.

I squirted some scent and applied some lippy, then combed my hair. After deciding I was tidy enough, after all rushing to the hospital would just mean we sat there longer worrying, I was determined to try and make us as comfortable as we could be.

Downstairs, Simon made some tea while I did us some toast. I ate some cheese with mine, he opted for just marmalade. After breakfast was finished, I washed up. He was pacing the floor, but we had still only taken half an hour or so since the phone call.

Finally, making sure we had mobile phones and some sweeties with us, we pulled on our coats and drove in my car to the hospital. At least at this time of day, there is no problem parking although one still has to pay to park. I let Simon drive, doing something seemed to calm him down.

It took a little while to discover where we should wait to speak with the surgeon for his assessment of the prognosis. But we got there and there was still no word from the theatre.

We sat in very uncomfortable stacking chairs. It was warm so I rolled up my coat and shoved it behind me, then opening my capacious handbag, I pulled out my book and offered Simon one. He shook his head, so I gave him my MP3 player with about three hours of Abba on it. He accepted it and sat back listening to it, holding my hand and squeezing it every so often. His eyes were closed as he tried to forget where he was, using the music to help the illusion, but his foot occasionally moving in time to the beat and his squeezing of my hand, meant he was far from asleep.

I read my Tour de France book, just about managing to turn the page with the one hand holding it. I'd bought it as a remaindered copy in the pre-Christmas sales, some shops seemed forced into although Waterstones, who dominate the high street booksellers, always seem to have some sort of sale books available. Anyway, I was happy to have picked it up for forty per cent less than the cover price.

We'd been there for about an hour when I felt in need of a visit to the toilet, my early cuppas had worked through me. I went off to the loo and when I came back Simon was pacing up and down. He looked really worried.

"What's the matter?" I asked fearing that he'd received some awful news.

"You were gone a long time," he said, "I just got anxious."

"Well I'm here now." I gave him a hug.

"Sorry for being such a baby, you must be wondering what you're taking on."

"No, I know what I'm taking on, a lovely kind and caring man, who at the moment is worried because his sister is in trouble, and thus rather vulnerable. If the positions were reversed, I'm sure you'd be looking after me."

He nodded and a drip of a tear ran down his cheek. "I am so frightened Cathy."

"I know Si, I know. I'm sure she'll pull through."

About another hour later, a woman in theatre scrubs came out to us. "You're Stella Cameron's relations?"

"Yes we are," I said emphatically.

"Okay, it went as well as expected. She's gone to ICU and hopefully will be there for no more than a day or two. The surgeon will be out to speak to you in a few minutes, just doing his notes."

We thanked her and she waddled off, possibly to go back to bed.

I think it was about ten minutes later, that a smart looking man appeared. "Hello, I'm Mister Campion, I just operated on your sister."

"This is her brother Simon Cameron, and I'm his fiancee, Cathy Watts."

"Didn't I see you on telly with the dormouse?"

"Yes, I don't think I shall ever live that down," I said blushing.

"It was really funny."

"The dormouse's latest escapade is even funnier but it wasn't filmed," said Simon.

I wish he hadn't mentioned it because now I had to tell that story before we got to hear about Stella. Mr Campion thought it was hilarious, and told us so at length.

"What about Stella?" I asked eventually.

"Yes, of course, sorry about that but it relieved the tiredness for a minute. Yes, Lady Cameron. A very fortunate woman. If she'd waited until tomorrow, she may not have been here for Christmas."

"What happened?" I asked feeling my face going as white as Simon's.

"She somehow managed to get a small tear in the hepatic portal vein. This caused a caused a haematoma and blocked the bile ducts. Finding the bleed was the problem. It has now been repaired and she is on a transfusion. The ducts are clear again and I hope she will be okay once she gets over the anaesthetics and blood loss, say a day or two. Then at least a month to recover, so nothing in the way of vigorous exercise, or lifting and carrying."

"Can we go and see her?"

"I don't see why not, but erm, have you been to a ICU before?"

"Yes," I answered, being aware of how bizarre a setting it is.

"She should be installed by now."

"Thank you, Mr Campion." Simon shook his hand vigorously. "Do you have a favourite tipple?"

"I quite like the odd single malt, why?"

"There'll be a case on it's way to you before Christmas, If you can give me the names of the other theatre staff as well, I'll send them a case of wine each."

"That's jolly decent of you, but I can't give you colleagues names, for obvious reasons, but there were ten of us altogether."

"So if I send them courtesy of you, you'll distribute them?"

"I will indeed."

They shook hands once again and we went off to ICU. Stella had been installed, with all sorts of drips and monitors attached. We sat and talked to her for about half an hour before Simon became so overcome that I had to take him outside to control himself. How much she heard, I have no idea, she was either asleep or unconscious the whole time.

"Let me take you home Simon, you need some rest."

"No I can't go until I see she's going to be alright."

"But this is killing you, you need some rest."

"Please Cathy, I need to see she's okay, until then I won't rest."

"Okay, but any more of these outbursts and they are going to ask us to leave because it will have a detrimental affect upon her."

"Okay, okay, I'll control myself, it's just she looks so weak and defenceless."

"I know sweetheart, but she will get better, you watch and see."

"How do you know?"

"Women know these things." I said and hugged him in reassurance.